


Seven Tastes

by Eilinelithil



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Angst, F/M, Fluff, Romance, Rumbelle Secret Santa 2020, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-26
Updated: 2020-12-26
Packaged: 2021-03-10 20:40:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,097
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28333266
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Eilinelithil/pseuds/Eilinelithil
Summary: Jefferson and Grace visit the Dark Castle to try and persuade Rumplestiltskin to celebrate the Winter Solstice. What begins with a hidden sprig of mistletoe leads through the emotional rollercoaster of a lifetime, that ends in a beautiful redemption.Written for the 2020 Rumbelle Secret Santa as a gift for Avatoh - Merry Christmas, I hope you like it!Nominated in the 2021 Espenson Awards for the Rumbelle Secret Santa category.
Relationships: Belle/Rumplestiltskin | Mr. Gold
Comments: 10
Kudos: 29





	Seven Tastes

**Sweet**

“Oh, come on, Rumplestiltskin,” Jefferson folded his arms across his chest as he, almost fearlessly, stared the Dark One down. “When was the last time you actually celebrated the Winter Festival?”

“Dark One’s don’t ce—”

“Celebrate, yes, I know. You said,” Jefferson persisted, “but there isn’t just _you_ to consider now, is there?”

Rumplestiltskin, who already had his mouth open with his next protest suddenly snapped his mouth closed, and creased his scaly brow into a frown, which, after a moment found voice in his rather petulant, “ _What_ … do you mean?”

“Belle.”

The mention of her name made him glance back toward the Dark Castle from where he stood, at the wide - and currently open - ornate metalwork that was the gate, blocking Jefferson’s way onto the grounds with his cart. On Jefferson’s cart lay a rather large, cut evergreen, and an awful lot of other greenery.

“You took her from her home—”

“She came willingly,” he interjected absently.

“—from everything and everyone she knows, and she has served you faithfully and tirelessly,” Jefferson went on without pause until Rumplestiltskin turned back to him. Then said, more softly, “Don’t you think perhaps she might like something a little… special to mark the turning of the seasons?”

Rumplestiltskin felt his frown soften. Jefferson had a point, and where would be the harm in celebrating the Winter Solstice, now that he had someone to celebrate _with_. Still, he couldn’t let Jefferson think he’d won him over so easily.

“And… who, pray tell, thought of this _ridiculous_ idea,” he rolled the R and made an overly dramatic gesture which had _entirely_ the opposite effect on Jefferson as he’d hoped. The man’s eyes lit up with playful mischief, mingled with a love that Rumplestiltskin recognized all too well, and even before Jefferson spoke, he knew.

“Grace and I were in the forest, searching for a Winter Tree for our home and… well… she suddenly looked up at me and said, ‘Papa, do you think Mister Rumplestiltskin will have anyone to share the Solstice with him?’ and before I knew it, we were searching for an entirely _different_ tree and —”

“It was Grace’s idea?” Rumplestiltskin questioned, feigning surprise with a step back, and a hand to his chest. “Little Grace?”

“Not so little now,” Jefferson answered, “But yes… her idea.” Then he gestured to the cart, and Rumplestiltskin looked over to see a small, bundled figure he hadn’t previously noticed. “You can ask her if you don’t believe me?”

“Why in _all_ the realms didn’t you _say_ you had her with you? She’ll be catching her _death_ in this weather.”

Rumplestiltskin gestured around himself with another flourish, and Jefferson’s face creased into a frown of confusion until, without warning, out of a formerly cloudless sky, large white snowflakes began to fall. From the cart, Rumplestiltskin heard a soft, but excitedly happy little giggle.

“Come… come inside… and…” his voice became a nasally, uncertain whine, “…bring that… tree with you.”

* * *

Belle looked up from the hearth as she heard the sound of not one, but two sets of booted feet, and the quieter shuffle of a third - smaller - set of feet. She frowned. As far as she knew Rumplestiltskin wasn’t expecting visitors. He hadn’t told her to prepare any extra food, or even teacakes.

Sure enough, however, when the large, double doors at the end of the hall opened without a sound, there was Rumplestiltskin, with a much taller man in tow - a man she recognized - who was holding the hand of a young girl whom she knew of, but had never yet met.

“Tea for my guests,” Rumplestiltskin ordered imperiously as he snapped his fingers, and the hearth she had been sweeping was suddenly clean, and a new, roaring fire, was burning brightly in the grate. “And then make up a guest room. Jefferson and Grace will be staying for a… a day or so.”

“Right away, Rumplestiltskin,” she answered, trying not to seem as breathless with surprise as she was.

She watched as Jefferson gave Grace the tiniest of pushes in the direction of the fire as he released her hand, before the girl came to a halt almost at Belle’s side, pushing down the hood of her cloak as she did, and stretching out her hands toward the fire.

“Let me take your cloak and hang it to dry in the kitchen,” Belle said. “The fire will warm you quicker then.”

She took Grace’s cloak, and Jefferson’s as she passed him on her way to the kitchen to make the tea, and couldn’t help but think that there was more going on than met the eye. Rumplestiltskin almost _never_ had visitors, unless they were the kind that petitioned, willing, to take the risk of making deals with the Dark One and paying his price, and _they_ left almost as soon as they arrived. She couldn’t remember _ever_ having anyone actually _stay_ at the Dark Castle. The thought of it made her smile.

She put the filled kettle onto the hook over cooking fire, and set the tea things onto a tray. She was surprised - though she knew she shouldn’t be - when she saw some tea cakes warming atop the stones beside the fire.

“Rumplestiltskin,” she murmured softly. “What _are_ you up to?”

* * *

When the Dark Castle was quiet, and he had finally sent Jefferson and Grace, and even Belle to bed Rumplestiltskin sat at his wheel, but he was not spinning. Rather, he was contemplating the Great Hall, and his plans for the following evening; trying to imagine the large room aglow with lights, warmed by the fire, and with the table ladened with good food and sweet treats. He smiled to himself. The only challenge would be keeping it a surprise for the others.

He had no doubt that Belle was already suspecting _something_ , and of course that Jefferson - having pushed the idea on him in the first place - would no doubt be hopeful for the kind of celebration that Rumplestiltskin was, indeed, planning.

Standing up from behind the wheel, he clapped his hands and let out a peel of giggling laughter as the answer to his little conundrum came to him in a flash.

* * *

Her curiosity of the evening before became the frustration of the following day as Belle discovered she was unable to open the door to the Great Hall. She had things to do - chores that she had to attend to, especially with guests at the castle, and a stuck door wasn’t going to help her get any of them done.

Petulantly, counting each step as she went, Belle fairly marched up the stairs to Rumplestiltskin’s tower, and uninvited, pushed open the door and stormed inside. Her irritation rose still further when Rumplestiltskin looked up.

“I don’t remember sending for you,” he said casually.

“You didn’t,” she snapped, then with her hands on her hips, she fixed him with her most baleful stare and demanded, “Rumplestiltskin, _how_ do I complete my chores if I can’t get into the Great Hall to clean and dust?”

“You don’t,” he answered, his voice almost an audible sneer as he pointed his finger at her. Then in a slightly softer tone he went on to explain, “There was… a mishap this morning with a spell I was casting. The hall’s a mess!”

“Then let me in to _clean_ it.” Her voice rose with exasperation.

“Not until I’m certain there’s no residual magic floating around in there,” he said. “Can’t have my maid suddenly… growing an extra head or maybe a tail.”

She opened her mouth to interrupt, but was rocked back on her heels by what Rumplestiltskin said next.

“Besides,” she saw his lips fight not to quirk into an almost smile, “I’m declaring today as a holiday.”

“A _holiday_?” she echoed.

“Yes,” he raised an eyebrow, “What’s so strange about that? It is the Solstice after all.”

“But…” Belle stammered. “You… you haven’t ever done anything like this before, and—” She cut herself off with a gesture of confusion. “What am I supposed to _do_ with myself all day? And… and what about lunch… and dinner?”

“You let me worry about that,” he said in a playful, sing-song voice. “As for what to do, that’s your choice, dearie. Enjoy the library… or perhaps build a snowman in the gardens with Grace and Jefferson…?”

Belle let out a soft squeak of surprise as he waved a hand, and she suddenly found herself cloaked and bundled up in warm mittens, standing in the gardens right beside where the others were rolling a ball of snow around, making it larger and larger by the moment.

“He’s up to something, isn’t he?” Jefferson said without turning to face her, but she didn’t miss the playful note in his voice, carefully hidden in his query.

* * *

Fresh snow began falling as the afternoon quietly acquiesced to the gathering shadows of dusk, and with their cheeks still rosy from their time in the gardens, Belle joined Grace at the library windows to look out on the beauty of the mountainside.

“Don’t you _love_ the snow?” Grace asked, looking up at her with eyes wide with wonder.

Before Belle could answer, the most _monstrous_ ruckus sounded from below, and all three of them - with Jefferson in the lead - raced from the library, and down the wide staircase toward the origin of the sound.

Jefferson came to a sudden halt in the now open doorway of the Great Hall, and it was so sudden that Belle collided with his back.

“Whoa,” he breathed, and with her heart in her mouth, Belle peaked around the side of his arm, just as Grace, at the other side of her papa, peered around his hip.

Belle’s eyes widened as she took in all that she saw. From the rafters and all around the walls of Great Hall, garlands of evergreen hung in gentle bows, adorned with tiny silver bells that glinted and glittered in reflection of the candles and the firelight from the hearth. In one corner of the hall stood an enormous tree, draped in strings of silver and gold, dotted with small crystals that blinked in all colors of the rainbow as they, too, caught and refracted the candle light… and the candles - red and green and white adorned almost every surface, and burned in ornate candelabras that stood on the long table that all but groaned with food.

Movement by the hearth drew her eye, and she gasped again as she saw Rumplestiltskin, dressed in his blue and silver brocade coat over a golden, embroidered waistcoat, and high collared white shirt and dark leather pants; his holiday finery.

“Well,” he said in wry amusement, “Don’t just _stand_ there. Come in, come in…”

Jefferson moved to the side, and gestured to Belle to go first. Hesitant at first, she took a tentative step forward, half expecting the sight to be nothing but a vision that would fade as she drew closer, but far from it. As she crossed the threshold her clothes shimmered in a flash of light and when she next looked at herself, she was dressed in the most exquisite dress. Soft yellow-gold with tulle at the shoulders, and a beautifully fitted bodice which flared into a full, light skirt. The whole dress was covered in delicate embroidery that made the dress shimmer around her.

She turned full circle, feeling the flow of the skirt around her and the soft, hushed music of her hem as it barely brushed the floor. As she did, she saw that Jefferson and Grace were similarly transformed, Jefferson all greens and deep purples, and Grace in a beautiful silver dress that flowed around her like liquid crystal.

“Rumplestiltskin,” Belle breathed as he came toward her to offer her his hand; to draw her closer to the hearth, where she knew she would be warm. “It’s beautiful.”

“I said it was a holiday,” he told her playfully. “And what’s a holiday without a fea—?”

“Stop!”

Jefferson’s urgent voice broke in on Rumplestiltskin’s sentence. He spoke with such authority, that - fearing danger, _danger in Rumplestiltskin’s own castle?_ she did not object when Rumplestiltskin stopped walking and drew her protectively toward him, almost into his embrace. Both of them turned to look at the Hatter.

With a smile slowly spreading over his face to the size of a Cheshire Cat’s grin, eyes raising, Jefferson slowly pointed above them.

Belle watched as Rumplestiltskin glanced skyward, before a deep scowl appeared on his face.

“Jefferson,” he growled.

“Ah, ah, ah!” the man tsked. “It’s tradition, and you’ve _always_ told me you’re a stickler for tradition.”

After a moment more, Belle risked a glance upward, barely registering how tightly she was now hanging on to Rumplestiltskin’s coat. When her eyes found the object of Rumplestiltskin’s continued frown and Jefferson’s matching mirth, she blushed deeply.

* * *

Rumplestiltskin continued to scowl at Jefferson, but to give the man his dues, he did not back down one inch. Strangely, it warmed the Dark One to think of Jefferson as a friend, and as someone that _would_ push gently when a shove was needed.

There, above him and Belle, nestled in among the garland that Jefferson had brought on his cart, was a sprig of mistletoe, and why he didn’t notice its presence before was a mystery to Rumplestiltskin. Now that he knew of it, he could _feel_ the sacred magic emanating from it even as strongly as his own. 

He took a breath, and noticed then how tightly Belle’s hands were wound into the fabric of his coat… and the blush on her face. Another breath and his eyes settled on her lips - slightly parted with the quickening of her breath.

“My… lady?” he began hesitant and, he realized, hopeful.

“Well,” she said softly, the blush on her cheeks renewing, and her tongue darted out to moisten her lips. “It is… tradition after all.”

Rumplestiltskin couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt his belly lurch with sudden want, as it did now, and the feeling that he’d been trying to deny rose to fill him once more.

He felt Belle take a breath, and the movement in her body as she tipped her head up toward his face. Another breath, and he lowered his lips to meet hers, softly and closed his eyes.

The tickle of her breath against his cheek, and the warmth of her lips against his subsumed him, becoming a part of him, calming the rage and disappointment inside of him, soothing the fear that dwelt in every fiber of his being. As her mouth parted slowly beneath the pressure of his, and he felt the slightest brush of her tongue against his lower lip, he became lost, and he knew it. The only doubt remaining…

Would she ever… could she ever want him?

* * *

**Salt**

Lacey moaned as she grabbed Gold by the lapels of his immaculate suit and pulled him closer, sandwiching herself between the wall and the hardening heat of him against her belly, uncaring what had fallen from the small shelf to one side of them. She moved her hips, their sway caressing that length she felt. She drew an answering moan from him.

“Good, yeah?” she whispered against his wet mouth as she broke their passionate kiss.

Gold moaned in response and, encouraged, Lacey released her hold on his jacket, instead sliding her hands beneath the garment at the shoulders, and pushed until it slid from his shoulders, caught part way down his arms, until she tugged at the sleeves, encouraging him to let her take it from him.

“Lacey,” he half breathed, half moaned as she tossed the jacket onto the workbench and went to work on his tie. “The door.”

“To hell with the door,” she murmured as she tugged on his, now loosened, tie to bring his mouth to hers again. “Just adds to the excitement.” As she spoke she pushed him away from her enough to get a hand between them, cupping him through his pants, moaning at the hardness against which she pressed her palm, then squeezed. “I can tell you want me.”

His only response was to moan her name, and she heard the need in his voice even as he tried to catch her wrists, the two of them vying for control as they moved toward the small day-bed; hands and lips everywhere at once until she could push him down onto the bed, and straddle him almost in a single motion. She pinned his hands against the pillow as she ground herself against him, leaning forward to once more plunder his mouth in a deep, consuming kiss.

She wanted him, wanted to nip and suckle at his flesh; taste him, and caress his hard length with her mouth until he begged for mercy. Her hands moved in time with her desires and she tugged at his shirt, pulling it from his pants, and deftly popped the buttons one by one. Her lips and teeth and tongue explored his body as she exposed it to her hungry possession. She slipped lower and lower with each kiss, pushed her fingers between them to tug at his belt, and unfasten his pants as she moved lower still.

Gold bucked beneath her as she slipped her hands inside, to cup him through his underwear; moaned a deep, visceral moan and pushed against her as if craving more, encouraging her without words. She needed little enough; wanted to taste him, surround him with the heat of her mouth. She wanted to lick and nip and make every inch of his cock hers to devour. She wanted the heat of his seed in her mouth, to drink him down.

“Please,” he gasped as she squeezed his length. She slipped her hands inside his boxer-briefs and gave a moan of her own at the silky steel beneath her touch. She licked her lips, anticipating all that was to come as she stroked her fingers up, around and down his shaft and the head of him. His hot, velvet skin, bucked at her touch. He moaned, and pressed against her touch once more.

She wanted to tease, to drive him to the brink of madness before she gave him more, but her own wants fought her resolve, and won, as she lifted him free of his underwear, and in the same motion slipped down to take him into her mouth, moaning as she lifted the salty bead of fluid onto her tongue, and reveled in the taste of him.

* * *

Gold let out a low, rumbling moan as Lacey surrounded his aching hardness with the heat of her mouth, bucked his hips in reflex, but tried not to thrust deeper. He wanted to let her control how she would take him, how deep, how consuming. His head swam with desire, tension gathering deep inside of him. He felt his balls tighten, grow hotter and heavier with need.

He moaned as she released him from her mouth, only to sweep her flattened tongue from base to tip of his twitching cock, and run the touch around the sensitive head of him. He gripped the comforter that covered the bed in an attempt to prevent himself from sliding his fingers into her hair and controlling her. He wanted to surrender, to relinquish control, to give himself to her.

Maddening pleasure possessed him. With every sweep of her tongue, each gentle scrape of her teeth against his length, every time she took him deeper, taking him into her throat before pulling away again, he grew more and more lost; intoxicated by her wild abandon.

Everything in him screamed for release. His every muscle clenched in his building pleasure. His body trembled, his cock twitched in her mouth and his balls ached deliciously. His breath came in short, sharp gasps and his head swam, then with a cry he could hold no longer and he flew apart, blinded as he came in pulsing spurts into her mouth, almost coming in a second wave as he heard her gulp him down as though she were dying of thirst and his seed was the sweet nectar she needed to survive.

As he began to come down, still fighting for breath as he began to soften, he felt the wetness on his thigh as she released him; felt the weight of her settle over him as she slid upward, leaning on her elbows as she cupped his cheeks, and pressed her mouth to his.

Almost automatic, he sucked her lower lip between his own, tasting, sharing the salty, musk taste of his own seed still lingering on her swollen rosebuds, a droplet still there slipping onto his tongue. He tasted himself, sweet and salt, both at the same time, a taste that intensified as she parted his lips and plundered his mouth with her tongue, still hot and wet with his essence.

The thought of it, and the taste of himself on her tongue began to rekindle his arousal, but in a bittersweet kind of way. This both was, and wasn’t his Belle, and he wondered if he would ever see her again, however aroused he might be. No matter how much Lacey accepted his darkness, he missed Belle. and hard on the heels of that thought, he wondered - if he did find a way to restore Belle to her true self…

Would she ever… could she ever love him?

* * *

**Umami**

In his eyes, she saw the world and all the realms in it. The light shining from his eyes - refracted by the tears she saw lodged there - warmed her heart, nurtured her _soul_ , and she couldn’t imagine a life without him. 

“Rumplestiltskin.” His name was poetry to her.

“This thing we have, it's never been easy. I’ve… I’ve lost you so many times. I’ve lost you to darkness; to weakness and… and finally, to death.” Not again. Never again would she lose him. She swore it to herself. “But now I realize… I realize that I have not spent my life losing you….” Tears filled her own eyes, blurring the light of the candles that stood atop the well - light that illuminated Rumple like a halo. Light, not darkness, possessed him now. “I’ve spent my life finding you.”

It was true. Through every realm, against _all_ the odds, she had found him; to save Avonlea, to save himself, and against the insurmountable odds of the dark curse, to find _herself_. He had always been there, and she loved him more deeply than she could ever say.

* * *

“Belle…” Her name was a prayer. Everything about her was love and light incarnate. “When we met I wasn't just unloved and unloving, I was an enemy of love.” It was true then… he still feared it was true, even now as they stood together before witnesses, pledging themselves to each other. 

“Love had only brought me pain. My walls were up. But you broke them down. You brought me home.” 

Home, it was another word that Belle embodied. Wherever she was, so would be his home. He had realized that _so_ many years ago, even when he was searching for ways to rid himself of this affliction called ‘love.’

Now it was a blessing, and her love the greatest benediction of all.

“You brought light into my life and chased away all the darkness. And I vow to you I will never forget the distance between what I was...” He dared, in that moment to look back on his life - on the darkness that had consumed him, no matter the reason for him taking it willingly, eagerly.

“…And what I am. I owe more to you than I can ever say. How you can see the man behind the monster, I will never know.” His eyes filled with tears once more, and fear shivered through him, because he knew the monster was there, always lurking, always present - ever a threat in spite of her constant assurances otherwise.

“But the monster is gone.” Now thought, her words soothed him, eased those fears. “And the man beneath him may be flawed, but we all are, and I love you for it.”

 _I love you too_ , he thought, but the lump in his throat stoppered the words, kept them inside of him.

“Sometimes,” she continued, “the best book has the dustiest jacket, and sometimes the best tea cup is chipped.”

He could wait no longer, filled with such love, such promise, he needed her to know, to see just how he felt. In unison they each reached for the other and he leaned down, finding her lips with his even as her mouth found his.

Their eyes closed. They didn’t need to see. The warmth of her kiss surrounded him, the taste of her mouth beneath his kiss the essence that aroused both love and passion inside of him. He was truly hers, and he wanted to make her his, in body as well as in spirit. He was nothing without her. The kiss deepened, and each held the other close, moving as one, breathing as one, one heart beating for the both of them. And yet…

Beneath it all, beneath the overwhelming happiness and the perfection of the day, the moment, he feared that he would betray her; break her heart and all of this would be meaningless, like ash, left behind after a hot burning flame.

Then, would she ever… could she ever forgive him?

* * *

**Bitter**

Terror, like nothing she could describe gripped her. She stood in the shop doorway, saw Rumple on the floor of the shop, She was come too late. Too late to tell him she still loved him, too late to save him, too late to show him she forgave him.

Her heart lurched, stopped then almost shattered - her entire world stalled into a single moment, poorly balanced on the head of a pin. Lost until the moment he snatched a breath, stirred and began to push himself up.

Her inertia broke, and she hurried to his side, on the floor beside him and helping him, easing him up, supporting him - something her soul had never forgotten, no matter how angry with him, how bitter she had been.

“What happened?” she asked softly.

“It’s my heart,” he snatched another breath as he spoke. “The last human fleck of red is disappearing.”

Her own heart stumbled again, and this time all the pain came flooding in with that lurch. “Your ability to love,” she said, her voice falling in sorrow.

“At least, in the end, I got one last taste,” he said, and for a moment she could not understand what he was saying. Her face creased into a frown, watching as he dropped he eyes from hers in shame. Understanding slapped her in the face, the sharpness of it sending a chill through her being as he continued, “We were happy in there. We were in love.”

She closed her eyes, steadying herself and pushing away the pain of it all.

“I was already in love,” she said, and he looked at her blankly, in doubt, and she let out a huff of her breath before leaning lower to catch his eyes. “Everything we had in the book, you could have had here. You could have been a good man, with a good marriage, for real.” A fresh burst of pain subsumed her, and her eyes filled with tears as she asked, “Why wasn’t it good enough?”

“Because I didn’t believe it,” he said, and her world broke a little more, watching as his self-loathing took him from the truth of their love - true love, she would always maintain that - away from his salvation. “Who could ever love me?”

He cupped her cheek in his hand and she trapped it there. His flesh was cold against her skin, beneath her hand as she held his. “I knew what I was getting, Rumple,” she said, “I wasn’t _going_ to pull back.”

“But I made you do just that,” he said, and tears came to his eyes as he told her, “There’s a whole world out there, for you. Go with Will.”

“I don’t love Will,” she half whispered, meeting his teary gaze with her own, her eyes part narrowed with the pain and fear, and loss she already felt. With a huge, determined breath, and with steadfastness, she added, “And I’m not letting you die alone.”

* * *

They came together, leaning closer as if their lips would find each other as if, with a kiss, she could breathe new life, new breath, new _love_ into his flickering heart. He wanted to, but dare not. Instead their foreheads pressed together and they leaned against each other, and with each breath, Rumplestiltskin remembered all the times that he _had_ dared.

He remembered the softness of her lips, the shape of her mouth, the warmth of her, the _taste_ of her - everything that had been his, could yet have been if he hadn’t thrown it all away. The pain of bitterness grasped him, darkness twisting inside of him.

_Who could ever love me?_

He snatched up The Dagger, staring at it in loathing, trying to remain as steady as he could as he felt the press of the darkness, the kernel of danger, the vague notion of causing harm, pain.

“Go… far away,” he warned. “When the man is gone, only the Dark One remains. That is more… more dangerous than you could ever imag—”

The pain of it became too much. The fear of hurting her, the bitterness of the wasted time, the wasted days, wasted moments, _why hadn’t he kissed her. Still a coward… always a coward_ , the taste in his mouth ashen instead of her filled with her sweetness. The bitter taste of the thought in his mouth. He wanted to live.

He fell forward and she caught him in her arms even before he hit the floor. If only she could always be there to catch him.

Would she ever… could she ever save him?

* * *

**Chalk**

With every step she had to fight the thought that was inside of her - if she let him do as she was sure he wanted, their child would be safe. No more worry, no more living with the sins of the past. Maybe then, just maybe, there would be hope for them, to be a family, to find love again and this time live _into_ it instead of fighting against what was - who _he_ was, who they were as a couple. Who _she_ was.

She hated it all; what they had been forced, by fear and circumstance, to become.

No. She had to stop this madness; had to stop _him_.

She reached the docks. Her heart pounded, panic mounting as she saw that Rumple had suspended Gaston, by magic, right on the edge of the pier, was drawing back his hand ready to cast him into the water.

“Rumple, stop.” She ran between them, making a plan in her head even as the moments came. Much as she hated what she was about to do, she knew there was little choice. “Please, for all we’ve shared, let me tell you one thing before you go through with this.”

“All right, Belle, what is it?” he asked, and his eyes flicked to her, before looking back at Gaston. She could see him weighing everything in his mind, hand still raised. Gaston still suspended.

She stepped closer, grasping his jacket for support as she looked up into his face while she said, “I just wanted to tell you that I _have_ always known who you really are. That’s why I love you.”

The only way to save him, to save _all_ of them was to distract him, and as close as she was, as true as it was that she loved him, and always would, the more she wanted only to know that love, to feel it, to feel the warmth of his kiss again. Surely _then_ they could all sort everything out, bring everything _right_ for all of them.

She leaned up on tiptoes, pressing her chilled lips to his. Immediately she felt him waiver, the way his lips parted to let her in, the heat of his breath against her cheek. His lips were soft, and warm… inviting and she almost lost herself in the kiss, but she couldn’t. She had to stay focused, slip her hand inside his jacket, her fingers closing around the hilt of the Dark One Dagger.

“But… I also know who I really am and I can’t let you hurt him,” she held the dagger up between them, trying not to notice the hurt in his eyes, but something else as well - was it understanding she saw? Was it hope, gratitude. She couldn’t tell, and didn’t want to distract herself with the worry of it. “In fact I command you not to.”

* * *

It was resignation he felt at her words - her command. He knew she thought she was doing the right things so he couldn’t blame her; couldn’t at all find fault in her words or her actions. All he could do was obey.

He dropped his hand, releasing Gaston and his mind raced with the memory of the last few moments. He had almost been free of his rival. _Why did he even_ think _of him like that?_ Belle rushing in to save… who? Gaston? Even her soft heart would be pushed to the limit in that, after all that Gaston had done to her… to her people… 

She was there with Gaston now, checking he was all right and he saw the contempt in the other man’s eyes. Contempt for himself he could ignore, but contempt for Belle…? He was about to act - master of loopholes, there had to be another way he could rid them of this faithless moron. So lost he was in thinking down such pathways that he missed the threat that was right in front of them both until it was too late.

Time slowed. Gaston grabbed his bow, nocked an arrow and lifted the weapon to aim it. He had no doubt that he would miss, and from the pull and glow of magic from the quiver, suspected foul play on the part of both Gaston and Hades. Belle moved and he knew that her intent was to disrupt Gaston’s aim, to save _him_ , but her own strength was greater than she must have thought it would be, because she caught him off balance, and Gaston fell into the Waters of Lost Souls.

Belle had saved Rumplestiltskin, but at what cost to herself.

He approached carefully, she was still on the edge of the pier herself, and he didn’t want to risk startling her, to make her fall in too.

“What have I done?” she asked as he reached her, and she turned to him, an expression of horror in her soulful eyes. She handed him back his dagger. “I guess you were right. Darkness will always win.”

As she all but threw herself into his arms, her cheek against his chest, he could feel the abject sorrow streaming from her, and it hurt him almost physically to see her that way.

“I’m so sorry, Belle” he said, “I never wanted this to happen to you, but you saved me. You saved our child.”

And slowly he rocked her in his arms to try and shelter her form her anguish, sighing softly to himself in the moment before they were interrupted, so mockingly, by the God of the Underworld, who belied his attestation. In that moment, he had never before hated himself so much.

Would they ever… could they ever find peace.

* * *

_**Sour** _

After all the pain, all the bitterness and heartache, all the fear had disrupted their life, especially in the last few weeks, when everything had gone so wrong. When desperation had made Rumple act so poorly against her, and against their unborn child that she felt she had to send Gideon away for safety, but sent him instead to the worst life he could ever have had… she was finally free of the turmoil.

Why then did everything seem feel so wrong, so sour.

They had their child back, an infant once again, spared from the life of pain that he’d lived before. They’d each walked through fire to put aside their grievances and find a way to work together to _save_ their son, and through it had found themselves again - found love, though it had never truly been lost.

Why then did she feel so sad… or was it even sadness she felt - was it only her just desserts. Her sins returning to haunt her.

“Penny for them.” Rumple’s soft voice came from behind her in the moment before his gentle hands settled on her shoulders.

“You don’t want to know,” she said morosely.

“Let me guess,” he said and drew her back against his chest, wrapping his arms around her, and softly murmured his prediction. “You’re blaming yourself for everything that happened - to Gideon, to me… Emm—?”

“But if I’d just _trusted_ you.” She turned in his arms, letting him see the anguish on her face.

“Belle, you did what you thought was right,” he told her, “and I didn’t help with that from the way I behaved. But you couldn’t have known what was going to happen, couldn’t even have _guessed_.” He cupped her cheek in his hand and she leaned in to his warm fingers, letting his voice wash over her. “So,” he murmured, “if you think all this happened because you didn’t trust me when you should, trust me now, hmm? It’s in the past. Let it go. We have Gideon, everyone is all right - a little wiser, but none the worse for wear - and we have each other.”

“I love you,” she answered softly.

“I know,” he said, “and I love you too.”

* * *

He ached to see her so upset, but he knew it was the kind of person she was. She would always grieve the pain of another, or the loss of innocence. It was part of what he loved about her, but if she continued to feel this way it would harden her. Turn her bitter in the way he had been embittered by all that _he_ had done in his life.

“What now?” she asked softly, and she was still looking up at him as though he could give her all the answers in the world.

“Now,” he said with far more confidence than he felt, “We take Gideon home, live and love as a family. Heal from all of this heartache.”

As he spoke the words, he realized he was telling himself as much as he was guiding Belle, and a wry smile crossed his face, “And, Missus Gold, since we’re all together again now, I think that calls for a little celebration, don’t you?”

“What…” she began to ask, the beginnings of a smile crossing her face, “…did you have in mind?”

“Well,” he murmured, reaching into his pocket for the small box that had nestled there for longer than he cared to remember. “First of all, I believe this is yours.”

He opened the box, looking for the first time in many months on the sparkling diamond wedding ring that he had given to Belle on the night of their marriage. He watched as her face lit up, slowly, like a spring thaw after a hard winter.

“And then?” she asked as he helped her to slip the ring back onto her finger - where it belonged.

“And then… may I have this dance?”

She let out a soft giggle that warmed him to the depth of his soul, and placed her hand into his, and there, in the small space at the back of the shop, the two of them, together, stepped and turned to music only they could hear, before as one, they moved to share the tenderness of a kiss.

Her lips were soft, warm and inviting, and he drew her more tightly against him as she opened to him, her tongue brushing his lower lip until he, too, parted his lips and stroked her tongue with his own, teasing and tasting each of those spots where the flavor of their love had laid, at one point or another: the sweet and the bitter, the salty and the savory, and those sour moments of the last several months, all washed away in the perfection of the kiss, except for one remaining sharpness… 

Would he… _could_ he find a way to stay with her… even into eternity.

* * *

_**KoKumi** _

No more pain, no more guilt, no more suffering.

His final thought was of Belle as the darkness closed in around him and he felt… emptiness.

_…but you deserve your happy ending…_

The familiar voice echoed in the darkness, a receding whisper in the nothing and the nowhere his soul inhabited.

 _…now go_ find _it…_

The words echoed and the null resolved to mist, and he looked around himself in confusion. Where was he? Was this to be his afterlife…? His eternity?

“Rumple.”

Her soft voice called to him, and at first he felt as though it was some fevered, death induced dream, until the light of an eternal sun spilled out rays that pierced the dark, and cleared away the mist, at least from his mind… and from his heart.

He crossed the empty space with strides that were almost desperate, without hesitation, in case it _was_ a dream even so.

But when she took his hands, and he felt the pulse of her soul flow from the touch, he knew it was no dream.

He had found her.

“I knew you’d make it home.”

The smile and laughter lit her beautiful face more than ever before as he affirmed it with a simple, “Yes,” and she leaned toward him, drawing him closer until she caught his lips with hers. They were soft and warm, just as he remembered, her kiss consuming and with no separation between them he felt the caress of her tongue, the press of her mouth to his, right to the depth of his soul.

Oh, how he loved her, and always had… and always would.

A pulse of brightness, brighter than the hottest star, burst from around them and even through closed eyes he could feel its heat, and light; could feel the magic of it, for their love was not _true_ love. Their love was deeper and more pure.

Their’s was _eternal_ love.

**Author's Note:**

> A/N - Science says the human tasted five separate tastes - sweet, salt, bitter, sour and Umami (savory). However, lately some scientists have argued that the human is capable of tasting more than five tastes, two being Chalk (or calcium) and what food scientists call ‘KoKumi’ loosely defined as the ‘sensation that makes tasting better,’ (perfection). Those two tastes have been included here, and one taste applied to a moment in each season of Once Upon A Time - Rumbelle.
> 
> Dialogue that appeared in the show remains the intellectual property of the writers


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